


Phazân

by Zimra



Series: Ai Atalantë [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Child Abuse, Family Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-17
Updated: 2014-10-17
Packaged: 2018-02-21 00:04:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2448008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zimra/pseuds/Zimra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inziladûn is angry, Gimilkhâd is confused, and Inzilbêth is gone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Phazân

**Author's Note:**

> phazân: an Adûnaic word meaning, "prince, king's son"
> 
> (Inziladûn is about 16 here (still very underage for a Numenorean), and Gimilkhâd is about 7. Ar-Sakalthôr is still alive at this time, making Gimilzôr the King’s Heir rather than the King. 
> 
> Thanks to Juliana for the beta and all the headcanon talk!)

Something was wrong. Inziladûn knew it as soon as he turned the corner and saw two palace guards stationed at the end of the hallway. He hurried past them without meeting their eyes - there were never guards in this wing of the palace.

The door of his mother’s sitting room was open slightly, and he dashed inside hoping to find her practicing the harp, or at the little table in the corner helping Gimilkhâd with his lessons. Instead, his father stood before the small fireplace, looking stern and fearsome, regal despite his everyday clothes. Inzilbêth was nowhere to be seen. 

Inziladûn could feel his hands beginning to shake, and a sick feeling took root in the pit of his stomach. Something was very wrong indeed.

Gimilzôr turned his harsh gaze upon his son. “Inziladûn,” he said.

Remembering his manners a second too late, Inziladûn bowed stiffly. “My lord. I seek my lady mother - she promised to help me with a new harp piece that I have been having trouble with. Have you seen her?”

It was a lie - he was meant to meet his mother for a Quenya lesson this afternoon - but the lies came easily to him now, after so many years of hiding the truth from the rest of the palace. He had rarely needed to lie directly to his father, who did not generally show much interest in his heir’s daily activities, but he told himself firmly that it was the same as lying to anyone else.

Gimilzôr’s grey eyes were cool, his face hard and unsmiling. “Inzilbêth is not here,” he said, and something about the way he said it made Inziladûn’s chest tighten with fear. 

“Where is she?” he demanded, clenching his fists and willing himself to stop trembling. 

Gimilzôr glared at his son. “I have dealt with your mother,” he said coldly. “But what of you, Inziladûn?”

Inziladûn felt like he was falling. “What do you mean, you’ve _dealt with her_?” In his panic he forgot who he was talking to - he would never have dared raise his voice to his father, the King’s Heir. His mind was screaming at him, _No, no, she can’t be dead, he wouldn’t-_

“She has been sent away.”

“Why?” Inziladûn managed at last, speaking barely above a whisper. _He hasn’t accused you of anything yet, you have no idea what he knows, do not give anything away…_

“The longer you lie to me, the worse your punishment will be,” Gimilzôr snarled, and Inziladûn glimpsed the simmering rage barely concealed beneath his father’s cold exterior. He took a step back, his whole body tensed to flee - but there would be no escaping this.

When his son stayed silent, Gimilzôr’s frown deepened. “I know everything, Inziladûn. Your mother’s traitorous upbringing, her continued heresy, her attempts to pass on such forbidden knowledge to you - and surely, in the future, to Gimilkhâd.” 

Inziladûn gaped at him, sick with fear. All his mother’s careful precautions, her constant warnings, the secret signals they had developed over the years - how long had his father known? How had he found out? Who had betrayed them?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said in a shaking voice. “Tell me where my mother is.”

“That is no concern of yours,” Gimilzôr snapped.

“Then I’m leaving! I’ll find her myself, I don’t care how long it takes!” Inziladûn cried. He meant to turn and make for the door, but before he could move his father struck him across the face, hard enough that he stumbled and fell. His head was still spinning when the Prince reached down and hauled him to his feet, his fingers digging painfully into Inziladûn’s upper arm.

“You are my eldest son, my _heir_. In poisoning your mind with her barbaric customs, Inzilbêth has tried to draw the future king of Anadûne into her treason, and there can be no forgiveness for such a crime.”

“Did you hit her, too?” The words felt distant, as though they had come from someone else’s mouth - they were foolish, and Inziladûn knew he would never have said them. 

Gimilzôr struck him again, not quite so hard this time. He seemed to have regained his earlier stern calm, but his grip on Inziladûn’s arm still hurt. “Perhaps spending a few weeks confined to your chambers will remind you of the duty you owe to me, to the King, and to all of Anadûne.”

He let go of his son’s arm, but not before gesturing to someone standing behind him. Two sets of hands fell on Inziladûn’s shoulders, and he flinched, recognizing the guards from the hallway. He bowed his head and stood very still as the Prince issued his orders, and did not struggle when the men led him away.

~

Someone opened the door behind him and Gimilkhâd spun around, hoping to see his mother or Inziladûn coming to tell him that everything was alright and that the shouting had nothing to do with them. Instead he saw his father the Prince standing in the doorway, bareheaded and informally dressed but still imposing. He looked grimmer than usual, and Gimilkhâd quickly dropped the toys he was playing with, scrambled to his feet, and bowed as he had been taught. 

But instead of addressing him formally, the Prince did something that he had never done before; he walked over to Gimilkhâd and knelt so that he did not tower over his son. Then he placed one hand on the boy’s shoulder and spoke to him kindly, without a trace of anger in his face or voice. 

“My son. I trust you are well?”

Gimilkhâd nodded, still nervous.

“I am glad to hear it. Unfortunately, I have grave news. Your mother and your brother have betrayed me, violating the laws of our forefathers as well as my trust.” The Prince sighed heavily. “The details do not concern you, but I must tell you that I have been forced to send your mother away, and to confine Inziladûn to his chambers for a time. It pains me greatly to do these things, but they have left me no choice. There may still be hope for your brother, but your mother has failed me utterly.” He gripped his son by both shoulders, and looked straight into his eyes. “I must put all my trust in you now, Gimilkhâd. Can I depend on you to remain loyal to the King, and to me?”

Gimilkhâd’s voice seemed to be caught in his throat, but he managed to reply, “Of course, Father.” 

“Good. I know you will not fail me. You must try to put your mother out of your mind, and forget anything she has taught you. She sought to turn Inziladûn against me, but you are still a true son of Anadûne.” The Prince squeezed Gimilkhâd’s shoulder, then stood and began to walk towards the door. 

Gimilkhâd took a deep breath and summoned all his nerve. “My lord,” he stammered. The Prince turned back to look at him, eyebrows raised. 

“What is it, my son?”

“May I see Inziladûn? Just for a few minutes?” Gimilkhâd took a deep breath, hoping he had not overstepped his bounds.

The Prince considered this, looking thoughtful rather than angry, which made Gimilkhâd feel a little better. At last he said, “You may. I will send a guard to escort you to him in a little while.”

Encouraged by this response, Gimilkhâd blurted out, “And my mother? May I see her, to say goodbye?”

This time there was a flash of true anger on his father’s face; he looked so furious that Gimilkhâd actually stepped back. But after a moment the rage was gone, so quickly that his son almost thought he had imagined it, and when the Prince spoke he sounded sympathetic.

“I’m afraid that is not possible. Your mother is already gone.”

And with that, he turned and strode from the room, leaving Gimilkhâd alone with his toys. 

~

The man who came to fetch Gimilkhâd was young, and wore the plain uniform and blank expression of a member of the King’s personal guard. He walked slowly enough for the child to keep pace with him easily, and Gimilkhâd followed him obediently.

Two more men wearing the same uniform stood in front of the door to his brother’s rooms. They opened the door with a quiet word from Gimilkhâd’s guard, and Gimilkhâd felt very small as he passed between them into the familiar room, bright and clean with its colorful carpet on the floor and bookshelves lining the walls. 

Inziladûn sat cross-legged on a broad window seat, a large book lying open in front of him. One side of his face was bruised and swollen, as though someone had hit him - it looked very painful, but Inziladûn smiled anyway when he saw his brother.

“Gimilkhâd!” Inziladûn scrambled down from the window seat to kneel on the floor. Aware of the guard standing behind him, Gimilkhâd hesitated for a moment, then flung himself at his brother, wrapping his arms around him and burying his face in the soft fabric of his shirt.

“Are you alright?” Inziladûn asked, hugging him back. 

“Yes.” Gimilkhâd hoped his brother wouldn’t notice the tremor in his voice. “Father told me you were locked up, but he said I could come see you.”

“I’m glad you came. I was worried.”

“I hope he doesn’t send you away,” Gimilkhâd said, his voice slightly muffled by his brother’s shirt. “If Mother hadn’t betrayed him-”

Suddenly, roughly, Inziladûn pushed him away, and Gimilkhâd stumbled and almost fell. He looked up, terrified - he had never seen such rage in his brother’s face. 

“Don’t you dare blame Mother for this!” Inziladûn hissed. “Father is the one who sent her away. He’s never brought her anything but unhappiness, and now she’s gone.” 

Gimilkhâd could feel tears welling up in his eyes, but he did not want to cry in front of his brother and the guard. “But Father said-”

“I don’t care what Father said!” Inziladûn’s fists clenched, his whole body trembling in his fury. “ _He’s_ the one who betrayed _us_! Don’t be so stupid, Gimilkhâd!”

He felt as though his brother had slapped him, and almost wished Inziladûn had - then he might not feel so ashamed when he began to cry, anger and hurt and fear spilling out of him as sobs. He hated Inziladûn for making him cry, and he hated himself for not being able to stop, and he hated his mother for getting into trouble and his father for sending her away…

Inziladûn looked alarmed at his brother’s tears, then horrified when he realized what he had done. “Gimilkhâd, I’m sorry!” he said desperately. “I’m not angry with you, I did not mean -” He reached out to try to comfort his brother, but Gimilkhâd pushed his hand away.

“I hate you!” he yelled through his tears. “I hate you and I hope Father keeps you locked up here until you’re dead and I never have to see you again!” He ran from the room, followed by the still-impassive guard, but couldn’t help looking back once he reached the hall. He caught a glimpse of Inziladûn’s wide-eyed, hopeless face before the two men standing guard outside the room closed the door behind him.


End file.
